


If My Love Could Keep You Alive

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Goodbye Sex, Goodbyes, Melancholy, Sexual Content, Tragic Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saying goodbye; a sundering. One last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If My Love Could Keep You Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from one of my main Feanor/Nerdanel songs, "Enough to Go By" by Vienna Teng. I suggest for this story, though, "Love Turns 40" also by Vienna Teng.

“No,” she said, quite clearly. They faced each other across the room, and she could see the anger burning in his eyes, the way his fists clenched and his face tightened with barely restrained rage. He seemed surprised, which she didn’t believe. 

“What?” It was not really a question; his voice was too soft. Maybe he was surprised. Nerdanel looked back at him, sure and serene. 

“I won’t support you in this,” she said. “You’ve gone too far. I know you’re grieving, but you’ve overstepped yourself.” They’d been married for so long, but perhaps nothing could truly last forever. Their love had burned brightly but now something else was burning in its place. 

“Your sons swore with me,” Fëanor challenged, and Nerdanel wanted, almost, to weep. All her boys, lost to her. If they left, she didn’t dare imagine they would ever come back. Nerdanel kept her face impassive. 

“I know. You should not have sworn, and they should not have sworn with you. This is folly.”

His temper blazed up, as fearsome as it had ever been, the fire in his spirit he was named for. “You name it folly? Folly, to avenge my father, take back what is mine?”

“Yes,” she said, her head held high. “I do.” 

Fëanor’s head jerked as though she had slapped him. Then he turned his back in one swift, harsh movement. “Very well,” he said coldly. “We leave on the morrow. I will stay with Curufinwë tonight, and not burden you further, woman, with my _folly._ ”

She let him go. Something in her heart cried out, and she would have called him back, asked for a goodbye, but she would stay strong. In the face of what would come, she would have to be strong.

* * *

He came to her in the dark middle hours of the night as she lay sleepless in the room they had shared for so long. He came to her, and she let him in. “You must understand,” he said, and there was something near to pleading in his voice that she had never heard before. “The Valar raised not a finger. My father lies dead. How could I…”

“I know,” she said, and this time could not keep from reaching out and touching his face, his cheek, with gentle sculptor’s fingers. “I know why you feel you must do this. But that doesn’t mean I can condone it.”

His face spasmed, and Fëanor twitched away from her. “Why do you insist on…”

“It will not end well,” Nerdanel said, cutting him off. “I do not think you will return here, if you leave.”

His mouth set in a hard, stubborn line. “So be it.” 

Something twisted in her heart. “Fëanaro,” she said, and her own voice sounded small and sad and just a little scared. 

He took her into his arms and kissed her, his lips firm against hers, his body warm, and she melted slowly against him as she had the first time they’d touched, young and passionate and in love. “Just one more time,” he whispered against her lips, and his voice had gone rough and quiet, low, like they would be overheard. “May I? Before, if what you say is true, we are sundered forever.”

She smiled at him, a sad and quiet thing, and said, “I still love you, Fëanaro. That doesn’t change.”

He lifted her in his arms, then, and carried her back to their bed as he had the first time they’d lain together. His fingers were slow and gentle as he pulled the nightgown down and kissed the hollow of her throat, a line across her collarbones. “You taste just the same as you always have,” he murmured against her skin, and Nerdanel ran her fingers through his hair and down his back. She grasped the cloth and pulled it up, her fingers finding bare skin, tracing up his spine. 

“If I do return, will you wait for me?” Fëanor asked, his mouth pausing over the angle of her neck. 

“Yes,” Nerdanel said, her heart seeming to skip a beat. “I will wait.” He pressed his mouth to the skin and sucked hard to make her gasp, blood blooming toward the skin. Her body arched and his hips pressed her gently back down. His skin was familiar and warm under her hands as she pulled his mouth to hers. His tongue traced her lips and retreated, and then he pulled away, shucking his tunic, reaching down to slide her nightgown up her thighs. 

She quivered. Even after all this time, his touch could still light her on fire. And apparently hers could do the same. Nerdanel reached out, her fingers brushing the soft material of his breeches, sliding down to palm her husband’s erection. He tensed, a small sound escaping his mouth as his hands paused, grasping her thighs. 

A moment later he smiled at her, almost wickedly, and rocked his hips forward into her hand. “Does it please you?” He asked, “That you still have more power over me than anyone else?” 

She knew he was teasing, if weakly, but she frowned at him. “It’s not about power,” she said. Feanor slid one of his hands up and toward the inside of her thighs, and something low in her belly tightened hungrily. 

“I know,” Fëanor said, softer, his smile fading. She shifted her hands to unlacing his breeches and taking him in hand. His breath shortened and his head fell back a moment, mouth slightly open.

“Not tonight,” she heard herself saying. “Just…”

He knew her. They didn’t speak again, and when he spread her legs and slid inside her, and she twined her hands in his hair and kissed him with all the fire in her, it felt like coming home. (One last time.)

Afterwards, lying together, curled against her husband’s warm and familiar body, Nerdanel traced his chest with a finger and thought about loneliness. “Must you?” she whispered, and he nodded. 

“Do you have to stay?” He asked, and she nodded, and sighed, closed her eyes, laying her head against his shoulder. Something ached like she’d lost them all already. Her body felt warm and satiated, but the rest of her was cold. 

“You won’t come back,” she said, suddenly. “I’ll wait, but none of you will ever come back. I know it.” 

Fëanor scoffed. “What does anyone _know?_ ”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Let me keep one of them,” she said, softly. “If not you…one of my sons. One of the twins. Please.”

He turned his head away, all the openness and softness closing. “No,” he said. “They swore.”

“You could release them.”

“I could. But I will not.” He turned his eyes back to her, and they were grey steel again. “If you would come-”

“No.” A note of harshness touched her voice, and stabbed between them. She felt the divide, felt his body tense against hers and a moment later relax, but he was already gone from her. “I love you,” she whispered, knowing it would change nothing, but it still needed to be said. 

He kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he answered, and his hand slid between her legs, an offering or an apology.

* * *

She did not go to see them off. If she had, she feared her resolve would weaken. She ached between her legs and in her heart. Their last lovemaking had been desperate, almost frantic, as if they could imprint themselves on one another. 

And then he was gone. Even before he left, his eyes were cold and distant. She was a stranger, and he was a stranger, and there was nothing left between them. And never would be. 

Perhaps it was too soon to mourn, but Nerdanel was grieving anyway.


End file.
